


Umbral Sorrows

by diaphanous87



Series: The Many Ships of Tilly [16]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, F/M, Gen, Miqo'te (Final Fantasy XIV), No beta we die like mne, Pre-Final Fantasy XIV: A Realm Reborn, Slight Violence, Soulmates, Tilly Lucia, baby's first soulmate fic, music based soulmates, rarepair madness, taking two steps to the left, the author indulges herself, wandering warrior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-22 19:36:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22188655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diaphanous87/pseuds/diaphanous87
Summary: Soulmates were rare, a blessing from Halone as they say in Ishgard. Zephirin isn't quite sure that was true considering his Heartsong dreams were anything but peaceful.
Relationships: Zephirin de Valhourdin/Warrior of Light
Series: The Many Ships of Tilly [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536589
Comments: 26
Kudos: 24





	Umbral Sorrows

**Author's Note:**

> :D
> 
> I'm back!
> 
> Welcome to 2020!

* * *

** Umbral Sorrows **

* * *

_I hate you…._

_I HATE YOU!_

He tried to block his ears with no avail. His hands couldn’t muffle the words ringing in them. For the words he kept hearing, they were all in his head, a memory of a dream, the dream that every Ishgardian had ever hoped for. Halone’s Song Blessing, they called it. As rare as the endangered white blooms of Winter’s Grace. Not everyone was granted such a boon.

The dream of their Heartsong…

But for him, this was no boon but an unending cry of sorrow and hate.

Roaring with rage, Zephirin de Valhourdin, young novice Temple Knight of Ishgard, shattered his water glass against the wall of his small bedroom. He sank to his knees and buried his face in his hands. He wept. And the words of her hate rang clear as the morning mass bell in his ears. The screech of violin strings violently being bowed harmonized with her pained voice.

* * *

“You look like shit.”

“Thank you, Grinnaux.” Zephirin sighed. He rubbed his tired eyes, sure of the bags beneath them. “Was there anything else you wish to enlighten me on?”

The young de Dzemael, rough as the hand hewn stone of the Brume for all his noble blood, shrugged and grunted. “Staying up too late wanking, eh?” He ignored the nasty look sent his way. He noisily slurped his stew remnants. “We’ve got practice. It doesn’t matter how tired you are.” He eyed the other tables of the Temple Knights Mess Hall. “Looks like the table of bastards is still crowded. Slacking off, I bet.”

Zephirin looked over his shoulder. The so called de Borel heir laughed at something the Fortemps bastard said. He thinned his lips at the sight of the Greystone among their ranks. “Don’t worry about them,” the blond elezen said as he stood up. “Like you said, we have practice. Let us be off.”

* * *

_You killed him! You killed him! I hate you!_

_I’ll rip your heart out!_

Zephirin bolted upright in his bed. All around him his tiny apartment in the Knights’ Quarters was dark. Even the candles had gone out. Sweat poured down his forehead and his shoulders heaved as he panted. His eyes were wild, nearly black from how dark they were. He tried to control his breathing.

He ignored the tears running down his face.

* * *

“A stumble like that will have you ripped to pieces by dragon claw!”

“Forgive me, captain.”

“Get up, de Valhourdin!”

* * *

Zephirin leaned against the stone of the wall behind him. He bowed his head, his eyes shadowed by his blond bangs. He wrapped his arms around himself. In the alleyway, far from prying eyes, he tried to slow his panicked breathing. A waking Heartsong dream had come upon him in the markets.

_Haurchefant was my light, my hope after everything seemed lost._

_And you killed him!_

Jealousy, black as the void, yawned in his chest, its fangs sinking into him. The Fortemps bastard… Zephirin grit his teeth. His Heartsong loved him, would love him, the bastard. Not Zephirin, who dreamed of her and was a trueborn son, but the Greystone, who was born on the wrong side of the blanket. It wasn’t fair!

It wasn’t fair…

* * *

_Eyes green as the spring leaves. Hair like tropical summer blossoms in artful spikes. Sun darkened skin, smooth and soft looking. Bright smile dimming upon sighting him. Long feline ears laying back in aggression with short fangs bared…_

No! Rolling out of bed and hitting the floor, Zephirin scrambled to his feet. She wasn’t… she isn’t… In a rage, he tore at his scratchy, standard issue bedding. Feathers from his pillow floated down. He panted and sank to his knees by his narrow bed. His neighbor pounded on the wall, shouting for silence. Zephirin had been howling in his anger. On the floor he bent forward and pounded his fists on the chilly stone.

An outsider! His Heartsong was an outsider! How was this possible?! A cat of all things! He, a true son of Ishgard! The future Lord Commander, as was his dream! No! NO! It cannot be!

But Heartsong dreams did not lie. They never lied. To say that they were a lie was to spit at Halone’s feet. And Zephirin, for weal or woe, was a true son of Ishgard.

“Is this a test?” Zephirin croaked. “Blessed Halone, do you test me? Test my faith? My conviction to serve you?” For to pursue his Heartsong was to leave Ishgard. Even a hyur from the Brume would have been preferable to this! And did she not hate him, his cat? How she screamed her rage at him, swiping at him like a cornered animal. And it hurt, every hateful word, every snarl aimed his way in the dreams. And the agony of knowing her heart belonged to another was unbearable.

But it also hadn’t come to pass yet! Mayhap… No, Greystone has never left Ishgard, just like he. And was it not in the scripture that one does not abandon Halone’s Song Blessing? For to do so was to abandon Halone herself…

* * *

In the great cathedral before sunrise, Zephirin knelt before the towering statue of Halone. Blank stone eyes stared unseeing of him above his blond head. Carefully he laid a clutch of flowers he had purchased from the Haillenarte hothouses at his goddess’ carefully carved feet. Cyclamen for goodbye and stephanostis for desire to travel. He whispered a quick prayer for Her guidance.

The elezen knight rose to his feet. In the quiet, to Halone herself, he swore he would win his Heartsong over, his cat with her bright green eyes and her brighter fuchsia hair. The Fortemps bastard would certainly not fall to his blade, not if he left. Not if Zephirin tendered his resignation. As for King Thordan… well, not even his king could argue against following the scripture. And neither could his father, for all that he would object. But the Heartsong could not, would not be denied.

A weight seemed to lift from his shoulders. The discordant violin song smoothed in his head. Soft feminine laughter echoed in his ears, gentle lyrics winding around his heart. Something had changed. The rage clawing at his defenses faded into nothingness. Instead there was only gentle spring winds.

Zephirin closed his eyes and finally he managed to breath deeper and easier. So, that was what it took. His conviction. A changed course, maybe even just two steps to the left. Now his tears were of relief.

Mayhap he had passed his Goddess’ test after all.

* * *

“Nay, I forbid it!” Lord Valhourdin bellowed. “You are but twenty summers, barely grown! Five years of training with the Temple Knights are nothing, Heartsong or not! You and that greatsword of yours will not be leaving!” Spinning around on his heel, the elezen lord, confident that he would not be disobeyed, strode away. The family servants scattered and disappeared in the wake of their master’s rage.

He didn’t see his son’s narrowed eyes and the furious spark in their blue irises.

“Young master, may I have a word?” An older hyur woman, the matron of the maids within the manor, beckoned him to a side hall. “My young lord, pardon my intrusion.”

Zephirin, always gracious to the servants unlike his sire, nodded. “Of course, Matron Yvonnette. How might I aid you?” he asked. He shifted on his feet, his chainmail creaking. Over his shoulder, the handle and pommel of his greatsword glinted in the morning light coming in through the windows.

“Forgive me but may I advise you, my lord?” Yvonnette bowed.

“I… I would welcome your council, Matron.”

“Very well.” The short woman straightened her spine and looked up at him. Then she glanced around for eavesdroppers, of which there were none, thank the Fury. “Be sure to pack plenty of undergarments, my lord.”

“Your pardon?”

“And socks. Boot rot whilst on the road is inadvisable.” Yvonnette smiled, flashing the gap between her two front teeth. “Let not your kindness be your downfall, be vigilant and wise. Let not your prejudice blind you to the people you will meet in your journey. Finding your Heartsong will take time, have patience.”

“You think I will disobey my father.” Zephirin’s eyes darted around, his shoulders hunching.

Yvonnette scoffed. “My lord, I have known you since you were knee high to a karkul. Think you that I do not recognize your tells?” She chuckled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “You already resigned from the Temple Knights, nevermind your desire to walk in your father’s footsteps.” Sighing, the maid shook her head. “But now you are going to forge your own path. Halone guide you, my lord. Know that you have allies still here in House Valhourdin, always.” Propping her hands on her wide hips, the old hyur sniffed. “Now what have you packed so far?”

Zephirin, awed and humbled, bent down to tell her. Hope grew in his chest. Wait for him, his Heartsong. Wait for him, he was coming.

* * *

Letting out a sharp curse, Zephirin scrubbed his hands vigorously with the harsh soap given to him. Delivering chocobo dung to be used as fertilizer was so far below his dignity! But his empty wallet and belly had said otherwise. These weeks in the North Shroud had been filled with the sort of work he had never done before. It was a pittance but the money would keep him fed for a bit longer. The only comfort to be had was the familiar wark of the chocobos themselves in the Treespeak Stables. At least until the former knight could be allowed into Gridania proper by their Hearers.

It was like the isolationist policies of his home, just not as extreme.

“Hey, fancy knight guy!” One of the stablehands popped into the washroom. The hyur grinned at the disgruntled glare aimed at him. “Hearer Untelontet is here to see you!”

Zephirin perked up, the tips of his pointed ears twitching. Mayhap his luck was changing? “I see. My thanks, Terramen. I shall be there anon.” He began to dry his hands.

“Sounds good! I’ll let him know!”

But the answer to his petition for entrance was not what he had wanted.

_The elementals said not yet. You still need to seek beyond the Wood. Eorzea is big and you have many lessons to learn still._

Not yet?! Zephirin could have screamed. But instead he thanked the Hearer for his time, remembering Matron Yvonnette’s plea to have patience. And so he bowed and prepared to leave the Twelveswood for other locales. Perhaps the Elementals knew that his Heartsong was not among their trees.

Zephirin hoped it was so.

* * *

“I hate sand.” It got everywhere! And he was hot and tired and running low on patience. Zephirin felt sweat beading on his forehead, soaking his bangs. The grit of the sand had somehow found its way into his clothes beneath his heavy armor even. It was irritating. Add in to the fighting he had had to do and the elezen was reaching the end of his rope.

All around him were the corpses of the Amalj’aa raiding band who had attempted to kidnap all of the Golden Bazaar. Not on his watch however. Fresh blood was dripping from his greatsword as he stood in the middle of the carnage. With his boot, the elezen nudged at one of the lizardmen. But no breath or twitch came. Good. A few of the poor bystanders peeked out from their hiding spots to see if the coast was clear. Cries of relief sounded around the small settlement from the would-be victims. As well as muttering about useless Brass Blades.

Zephirin didn’t comment as the residents slowly trickled out of their homes to get rid of the bodies. Instead he dug out a cloth from his hip pouch to wipe down his blade and the blood splattered on his armor. He let out a tsk when it wasn’t enough for his armor after cleaning his sword. Instead he swung the blade over his shoulder to attach it to the magnetic holster on his back. He scanned the people but not a one was a miqo’te even. So he would have to move on. Zephirin sighed and turned on his heel to go on his way. But a small voice stopped him from leaving.

“Wait, mister!” A small child, an orphan perhaps, hopped in place as he turned and looked down. “Please, thank you very much for saving us!” The little hyur bobbed a clumsy bow to him. “Thank you!”

The Ishgardian softened, a reluctant smile barely tipping up the corner of his lips. “You’re welcome, child,” he said softly.

“Someday, I wanna be strong like you, mister! Then I can save everyone too!” The honest admiration shining in the child’s eyes was refreshing. “Do you think I can do it?” Other orphans crowded with the child, staring and waiting for his answer.

“You must work hard,” Zephirin said after a long moment. “Have courage. Be patient and kind. You must stand for what you believe in, child, even all the world tells you nay. And do not give up for if you keep faith, you shall triumph.” He bowed to the awed children. “Halone guide you, child.” The children cried out their goodbyes as he walked away. Without looking back, Zephirin raised his hand in farewell.

He left behind the Golden Bazaar, never realizing that he had just inspired a new generation of free paladins.

* * *

Soft violin and gentle lyrics echoed in his ears as he prepared his camp. The sweet siren beat of a Heartsong dream and the chance for a glimpse of her. Zephirin blocked off the cave as well as he could and set up what few wards he knew. Carefully he leaned his greatsword against the stone wall of the desert cavern. Curling upright in his armor as best he could, Zephirin drifted off to sleep beside his blade. His Heartsong sang to him and he hummed along as he slept.

_Love is sailing by moonlight… I know tomorrow I’ll be closer to you…_

* * *

A sailor laughed and patted him consolingly on the back. Zephirin opened his mouth to offer insult only to spew more contents from his stomach over the railing. He wheezed and clung to the wood. Coughing, the elezen groaned as the ship hit another swell. Surely he was empty now?

His belly disagreed and he coughed more into the sea below. A fellow passenger offered him some drinking water, sympathy clear on her face. And though she was a miqo’te, she was not his Heartsong. Still, he croaked out a weak thanks and sipped. But it was not agreeable to his insides and he ended up puking again. Her frantic apologies were waved off graciously despite the fact that he was tired and ill. The bags under his blue eyes grew darker as the exhaustion hit. Sinking down to his bottom, Zephirin cursed his fate, cursed the Twelve, and cursed his seasick stomach.

And he cursed the fact that he had skipped going to Southern Thanalan for Limsa Lominsa instead. And the less said about his search in Ul’dah, the better. That sinful hive of greed and villainy…

“Ye’ll get yer sea legs soon enough,” the captain said that evening as Zephirin turned down supper. A merchant offered him some candied ginger free of charge. Obviously it was out of pity and yet. The elezen gratefully took the ginger and slowly chewed. “But until then, ye might wanna stay below deck, aye? Might help.” The old Roegadyn guffawed, slapped him on the back, and left the passenger hold. “Limsa will be on the horizon soon enough, laddie,” he said over his shoulder.

“Halone help me…” Zephirin muttered around the candied ginger in his mouth. He stumbled off to his cabin and curled up on his hammock. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Don’t,” he commanded on his body. “We have no more left to give this day.”

* * *

The past few years had not been kind to Zephirin’s knight garb. It was with great reluctance that he replaced everything he could afford to replace for even the Armorers had declared it beyond repair now. He nearly died at the price he managed to haggle down to for his new armor. But the elezen could not die yet, not from something so stupid as broken armor.

Zephirin had not found his Heartsong. It was his one mission, his only goal. And until he found her, courted her, and settled down, new armor was a must.

Actually joining the Adventurers Guild in Limsa had been a good idea for raking in some gil. Nothing matched but the elezen’s soft bits would be covered at least. And though he wouldn’t use an axe, that was Grinnaux’s domain, the Marauders Guild had been welcoming enough as well. 

And then the call came to come to arms. The Black Wolf had howled his war song.

* * *

“Halone preserve us…” Zephirin whispered as Dalamud grew redder and bigger in the sky with each passing day. The captain had been right four years ago, the elezen had found his sea legs. And now he sailed with his hastily put together Maelstrom squadron for the Carteneau Plains.

“Hey, Ishgardian!” one of his teammates, a little Sun Seeker miqo’te, scuttled over to him. The color of his hair and such familiar green eyes… nay, surely not… “Do you think Ishgard will send aid?” they asked, fushcia colored ears flicking nervously.

“I fear not,” Zephirin answered truthfully. He frowned. “The war with the dragons wholly occupies my nation’s attention. Nidhogg is unrelenting and has been for one thousand years. And never have we asked for aid and thus do we not offer aid to anyone.” And for once he felt great shame at the idea. “Long have we ignored the plights of our neighbors, neighbors who could have helped us long ago…” he murmured. “What will happen, I wonder, if van Baelsar wins? Will he turn his eye to Ishgard as the last bastion against his total conquest of Eorzea?” Would his home burn under dragon fire or from magitek weapons? So many enemies at the gates.

“Most likely,” his companion said, their leonine tail curling in agitation. “And if we lose, they’ll have no one to turn to for aid anyway.” Then the miqo’te perked up. “But you’re here! You’ll be fighting as an Eorzean. Together we’ll win.”

Such faith. Zephirin nodded solemnly. “We must prevail for our home is in great danger,” he replied. “May I ask your name?”

“Ma’tizh Tia, originally from the southeastern shores of Thanalan of the Ma Tribe!” the miqo’te answered, ears wiggling and tail wagging. “What’s yours?”

“Zephirin de Valhourdin, former Temple Knight of Ishgard. Well met, Ma’tizh Tia.”

“Oh, I like you. Very polite.” Ma’tizh’s bright green eyes squinted with his smile. A familiar smile, haunting and frightening because Zephirin dreamed of it on another face just as beautiful. A relation?

Fury take him, if this was a relation of his Heartsong then Zephirin had no choice but to keep this boy safe. “Stay with me, Ma’tizh,” he said softly. “Let us guard one another’s backs.”

“Great plan, Zephirin!”

* * *

“Zeph!” Ma’tizh cried out. He ducked under a swinging imperial sword. “Zeph, where are you?!” Blood and soot coated his face as the young miqo’te barely managed to kill his opponent.

High above their heads, Dalamud was falling.

“Tizh, drop!” Zephirin roared as he burst through a group of imperials, greatsword cutting through. Gratifyingly the miqo’te followed the order without blinking, dropping to his hands and feet in a planking position. The giant imperial, most likely a conscripted Roe, was cleaved in half. “Roll!” The elezen hopped over his young partner as he rolled over and back up to his feet behind him. “With me!” The little rogue miqo’te ran after him, daggers slicing the few who got past Zephirin.

“There’s too many of them!”

“I know!”

“LOOK OUT!”

Time seemed to slow as Zephirin turned. His blue eyes widened in fear as a magitek armor’s cannon aimed right for him. So this would be his end. He managed to reach back to grab Ma’tizh and push him to the ground. He squeezed his eyes shut and stood over the miqo’te to shield him. He prayed to Halone, for Her mercy, for Her strength. For a place in Her halls.

He wished he could have found his Heartsong…

And then the sound of violins reaching a crescendo rang in his pointed ears, drowning out the blast from the magitek armor. A note from a cello joined the chorus. Was that him? No… no! Opening his eyes, Zephirin stared in disbelief at the barrier encasing him and his partner. And then a great slab of stone rose up under the armor to shatter it and its pilot.

“Wow, that was close!” A beloved and long searched for voice said within the barrier next to him.

“BIG SIS!” Ma’tizh scrambled to his feet to hug the woman in robes that used to be white. “Holy smokes, you’re a conjurer today, huh! Oh, you need to meet my friend! He’s been keeping me safe! Zeph! Hey Zephirin!”

“It’s you…” Zephirin breathed, taking a shaky step toward the two miqo’te. “It’s you. Here of all places!” And inside that barrier that she was still holding up, the elezen fell to his knees. His sword fell to the ground beside him. He turned his face up to look upon her. And though she was covered in dirt and robes stained with blood, she was radiant.

“Cello guy…” The miqo’te, with hair like tropical summer blooms and eyes as green as spring leaves, slipped out of her brother’s hold. Her elegant ears perked forward, slit pupils widening. She reached out to cup his face, her ringbands barely digging into his skin. Her thumbs stroked his own dirty cheeks. “Not like this. No… not like this.” She wept as she curled over him. Her tail curved around his shoulders. His arms wrapped around her waist. She clutched his nape as he buried his face into her belly. He too began to weep.

Fire rained down from the sky. The barrier began to crack. Screams of fear from both sides filled the air as people scrambled to flee. But there was no running, not from this.

“Oh man…” Ma’tizh said softly, staring up at the sky as the moon broke apart to reveal its horrible secret. He had found his sister’s Songmate and he hadn’t even known. And now a giant dragon thing had burst out of Dalamud. “This isn’t fair!” He fell to his knees and clung to his sister and her Songmate. One broad, masculine hand clutched the back of his tunic while a much smaller, elegant hand cupped the back of his head. And like a kit, tears and snot flowed as Ma’tizh wept too. “It’s all wrong!”

And there, at the end of the world, the three were enveloped in light and fire.

* * *

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> >:3


End file.
